The chill crisp in the air that is making me want to do a Breakfast Club-style freeze frame fist pump, is also giving me insane anxiety. And no, it’s not the oh so familiar, “back-to-school anxiety” that looms every September, even though I’ve been out of school for six years now (I’m beginning to feel like this will forever exist in my life).

Instead I’m staring at my closet door (where I store my off-season clothing), in fear and loathing. All of my summer clothes are hanging pleasantly on my clothing rack, yet I know any day now, I will have to open that closet door filled with my fall/winter clothing from last season and transition them back into my life. And dear good … I mine as well be in the Delorean gunning it back to a time I just want to forget.

I know I probably sound like a lunatic right now (when do I not), but when you had some pretty bad shit happen in the past season, your clothes from back then are stained with those memories.

“Ohh hey, shirt I got dumped in.”

“Wow … long slouchy sweater, I haven’t thought about the day I got laid off whilst wearing you in a few weeks. Thanks for the reminder, dick.”

Yeah. Hence why that closet door stays CLOSED. TIGHTLY.

The problem is, I adore a lot of my clothes from last winter. They are good. REAL good. There is nothing wrong with them besides my emotional issues (perhaps I should go talk to someone about this … hmm). Yet every time I pick them up, I get awful, soap opera-style flashbacks from all the bad nonsense that happened during that season. And that is when I put them back on the rack, back away slowly, and remind myself, “self, you need new clothes.”

So as much as it hurts me to part with these pieces (because like I said, they are GOOD), I must. Figurative emotional stains are just as hard to get out as real life mustard stains. And who knows, maybe someone, a person who needs them much more than I, will shake out the good times in these pieces.

I bet you’re wondering, why don’t you keep them? Well … I usually do. In the past I would keep them and just let them hang, lifelessly in my closet … and every time I would reach for the piece I would be all, “hmm yeah … I want to have a good day today … soooo you’re going to stay here.” That’s not normal, kids. I don’t have a Kardashian closet to be this silly with space, okay. Mama needs the space.

Look, you shouldn’t need a box of tissues, a bottle of wine, and a Xanex to go through your closet. Your closet should be your sanctuary, no matter how small or unorganized. While we cannot erase the bad shit that happened in the past, we can remove the reminders, even if they happen to be fantastic pieces you collected over the previous season. Sigh.

But hey, I’m looking at it like a new blank canvas to fill with awesome, more positive pieces. And more glorious space.

What I’m saying is, I can’t wait to buy more black clothes. I just can’t wait.

I’m incredibly superstitious. Especially when it comes to the things I put on my body. I mean, for example, a top you wear when you get dumped, no matter how cute it is, will forever be known as the top you got dumped in and wiped your snot on the sleeve after hysterically crying. Or that necklace you cherish, but every time you wear it, you end up getting too drunk and throwing random shit at people (not that this happens to me :::shifty eyes:::.

Take my amazing sheer navy blue blouse I scored at Forever 21 like a year and half ago. I file this top under what I like to call “F21 Couture,” as you REALLY couldn’t tell it was from F21 unless you got all up in the shotty stitching job. And for this reason, I take the time and money to get it dry cleaned (a little tip from me to you, get your cheaper pieces dry cleaned, it will make them last longer). I adore this top. Yet, every time I wear it, every SINGLE time, I have the worse day/night ever. Literally, cringe-worthy, cry yourself to sleep shit.

The weird thing is, I have numerous pieces that I’m actually scared to wear for fear I will be doomed to endure a bad day … which leads me to think … “umm do I need a shrink?” But in an effort to reduce my crazy and prove myself wrong, I whipped out the navy blue sheer top last weekend and decided, why the hell not?! I have all these great pieces that just hang in my closet, all lonesome, just because I’m scared of them (the more I think about it the more I DO indeed think I need a shrink). But I digress.

So I put the navy blue sheer blouse on, bravely, and went about my day, thinking how insane I was for neglecting this awesome top. I went shopping. Treated myself to cocktails. Got my nails did (not in that exact order). But guess what ended up happening? Oh yeah. A terrible, horrible, no good, VERY bad night appeared out of nowhere. As if it grabbed me by the back of my hair and ripped out my weave. I’ll save you the petty details, but I ended having a full blown anxiety in a bar and ended up crying my way home that evening.

With all of that being said, that pretty little navy sheer blouse is getting straight up donated. I hate the idea of throwing away a perfectly good top when there are people out there who need it. And I HOPE it won’t be like the VHS tape in the movie the Ring bringing other people terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days when they wear it, but alas :::sigh:::, it is the risk I will have to take.